some nights, you leave the dishes in the sink.

I have exactly two roommates and goodness, do I love those sweet girls.
They're friends {more like family} of mine from college and we are all different, the "night and day" kind of different, but alike in that we love Jesus, theology, and coffee mugs...and really, that's close to all that matters.

Still, as well as they know me, I'm kind of embarrassed by the thought of them seeing my clothes thrown across the floor or my dirty dishes in the sink...so I do my best to make sure that clothes are folded and the left-overs done away with before they lay their eyes on it.

I can tell you and myself it's out of respect for them, the fact that this is their space too. And it is, for the most part.
But honestly? A good part of it is because I don't want them to think I'm a mess of a girl (even though friends already know these kinds of things).

This might not seem like a big deal or even warrant a second thought. Who cares if your friends see a dirty sock now and then?  Really now.
But recently, I realized that as much as I am keeping things tidy for their sake...it's still about me.
I make sure they think well of their roommate and friend. I make sure they know I'm not a slob.
Because there's that lingering fear that maybe, if I don't have it all together, they may think less of me.

I can live my life this way for an increasingly unsatisfied, faceless audience as well.  and I have.

People-pleasing ways leave a lot of room for sweat and worry, and not much room for the Gospel.  It's no life at all and it is sure not freedom.

"Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom." -2 Corinthians 3:17

Those who have the Holy Spirit are a free people.  God is well-pleased with His people.  So why is it so easy to still live as a slave shackled to pleasing others?

Because it's an ugly-faced idol masked as a mere subtlety.  We call it simply our "personality" and can keep it to ourselves and dress it up real pretty as a favor or a cause or even a matter of good house-keeping. That's a dangerous thing.  And no matter how many times you tie a bow around the deeds you do, there's always another to be done.  Nobody wins at this. Not ever.

I've tried, and all I've found is inadequacy, a whole lot of wasted time, and still another item for the to-do list.  That list never ends, by the way.

These people and their praise; It's a bit addicting, erected over too many of my thoughts and actions and that ambiguous place between the two.  And you can bet that it's taking awhile and won't be knocked down from its lofty pedestal easily.
But oh, is it coming down.

to my sweet friends & roommates: yes, sometimes those are mine in the sink. yes, I know you love me anyway.

when lemons are really just lemons.

I remember when a cardboard box and mom's lemonade made for two sticky hands and one glorious day.

Because when you're 6 years old and the owner of a lemonade stand on the corner of Townsend St and W Kerr, 25cents from a neighbor lady means you're 25cents closer to the mega-pack of markers or a rocket ship.  and the commute home is 10 steps to the door and your dog.  It's all in a day's work.

But lemonade-stand days have this way of ending too soon, and the years tend to leave you with a lemon or two. Didn't someone somewhere say, "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade"? 

They were well-meaning I'm sure.  But that sounds like messy business to me.

"In-between" things, like hurt and ache and waiting and more waiting are lemons that can and, I think, should really be sat with for a while. Not that it's easy. Sometimes it means crying a little more than usual or throwing them at the wall and always, always laying them out before the God Who Sees. 

Those things, they're between where we've been and where we're going.  And Jesus, He knows about that.

That's a relief because these knees have shaken more than i'd have liked them to this year and my lemons look different and are weighty and cost a little more than 25cents.  But He knows that too.

I'm thankful today, for a God who knows exactly what the in-between feels like.  With its "lemons" and sticky hands and all.

ps If you have some lemons you'd like to share here, please do.  we'll chat. or pray. or throw them together.

sometimes, I throw things.

I have a thing for BBC.
You know, the one that airs all of those Dickens-esque miniseries' that manage to make tragedy and romance seem equally wonderful.
Shows like "Downton Abbey" and the miniseries "Pride and Prejudice" are filled to the brim with effortless elegance and plenty of good grammar. I admit, a few favorite friends and I have sat down to watch more than one episode of more than one series with more than one kind of carb. If we're honest, we mostly adore what we've seen.

The men in these types of things are always gentleman (at least in the public eye), and the women?
Well, they seem to float through life with straight backs, flawless skin, great hats, and of course, those accents. Sure, there's a fair amount of drama, but nothing that can't be tamed with a word uttered at a whisper.  It's all very romantic.
But, as giddy as I am to have BBC in the USA, it can be a little bit unnerving. And make me feel quite less than a lady.

Because sometimes,
I throw things.

When I'm mad, you won't find me whispering politely about it over a cup of tea. Something's probably soaring through the air.
And I don't cover my split ends with a great hat, or have any trace of a British accent, and the closest I get to a dinner party is cheeseburgers and sweet potato fries with the two little gentleman I nanny.

So, how do we measure a "lady" these days?
Because as much as I admire the seeming flawlessness of the early 20th-century version, I've met some lovely ladies who do not fit that description.  Not even close.

Thinking about this has stemmed from my own insecurities, really.  There are days when I don't like what I see and so I start wondering what everyone else is seeing.  I'm under no illusions that a person can't look straight through a smile and a coat of mascara.  I've done the seeing-through before and there's no doubt that there have been plenty who've seen through me.  So, since we're rarely fooling anybody, and never fooling God, what's to be done about it?

I met a lady once some time ago in Guatemala City, Guatemala.  A friend and I stayed in her home during a missions trip for only a little over a week,  but I remember noticing how rarely she spoke about herself.  She mentioned that she was a widow, her 34 year old husband having passed 6 months before from a heart attack.  So, one morning she woke up and found herself with a young son and an elderly mother-in- law to care for.  And then decided she'd take in two naive stranger-girls from America and treat them like family.  While we were there, it was home.
Is there a word for that?
Hospitable, selfless, kind maybe. But those kinds of things tend to not fit very neatly inside of our vocabulary.  Because God, he uses people to define what can't be found in Webster's book of words.

You won't find this woman next to the definition of "lady" in any dictionary, maybe not even in a telephone book.  But she's more a lady to me than one with a straight back and high collar.  Shoulders hunched from mourning can be the strongest there are.  And I could go on and on about this.

Is that it really?  Is the measure of a lady the amount of people at her dining room table rather than the length of it? Or the space between the doors opened to a couple of well-meaning girls from a world of wealth?

I think it's okay that we come unglued sometimes.  Because at the end of the day, if we throw a hairdryer across the room, does it take away from the Grace that's already measured our worth and counted the cost and enables us to do the above? No, thankfully it doesn't.
That goes for those of us who can sip our tea and whisper our madness too.

outdoor days.

Outdoor days can be the best kind of days, even if they begin at the crack of dawn.  Camp Harvest has taught me this over the years...and oh is there plenty more where that came from.  You don't leave a place like that with empty hands.  never.

And this year, I had the opportunity to go to camp as a "leader"...sometimes, that's just a fancy word for kids  playing dress up with name tags.  The day before we left I found myself with my head spinning from all the things I'd left until the last minute.  And there was me, having had no cup of coffee that morning, and my stuff scattered all over the floor that night instead of in my bag where it should have been the day before and really just not knowing what happened to that skinny, bruise-kneed 12 year old girl.  Who sent her into the world of grown-ups?  because they were clearly mistaken.

Yes, that's typically how it begins.  And usually if you meet me on a day like that you had better run.  But the next morning I somehow managed to get on a bus full of the best people you'll find.  And that has a way of setting things right.

So this week, at least for more than a few days, I got to live at Camp Harvest again.  It's always an adventure, never really changes, and God...well He works there too.  That makes for some glorious days filled with dirt, Styrofoam cups of good coffee, new and always familiar faces, the infinitely gross, people's quirks and ticks, and their stories.  That one, it's my favorite.  

I heard a lot of them this time around.  It's a hard thing, you know, putting words to the seasons of a short life.  But these girls, my girls, the ones in Cabin C...they did.  And I was rendered speechless more than once, able to do nothing but sit with them as their hearts beat wide open for me to see.  Me, with my messiness and one gosh-awful tendency of sticking her foot in her mouth. 

I've been thankful for grace before.  But how much of it I experienced in the hours spent with ladies brought to that decade old camp by the One who wrote them into being, just as He brought this girl a million and a half hours ago.

I've found that kids, including "leaders" like us, come to camp for various reasons.  But God has His reasons too, and He's not forgetful or apathetic or willing to overlook what we try pass by with eyes averted and heads down.  And let's be honest shall we? Love like His, the perfect kind...it's a scary thing.  It's relentless and requires surrender.  

So we squirm and try to laugh our way through weeks like this one, knowing it's all in vain, because when do we ever get away with just some clothes full of lake water and a couple of bible verses to bury in our pockets?

Conviction, Truth, His Words..they stick to you like a good friend.  Closer than a brother is what I've heard.

And no one can win what's already been won.

This is all really good news.  It's the reason why girls like me have lofty aspirations of being a part of weeks like this until I have wrinkles and a couple of cats.  Even then...

I'll be waiting for next year.

for when there's a lot of commotion.

this year's pace is rattling me.
Yes, it's August tomorrow.  Which means that tradition we like to call Camp Harvest begins bright and early.  I'll be called "leader" this week which is a funny thing because some days I still think I'm a girl-student with braces and bruised knee-caps.  And honestly, I'm feeling a lot of "less than".

"less than" comes easy when you've been a kid longer than you've been an adult, let me tell you.  Call it feeling less than ready, maybe less than equipped, and it'll always leave you racking your brain wondering where the time's gone.

Today, this last day of July with it's whirlwind of activity, had me caught in the "less than" state of mind.  And for all of my trying, I have barely stumbled through it.  It's been a picture of me in my thin skin and it is not pretty.  When my ugly shows up, it's difficult to tuck it back in.

But He who put me in this skin, not to wear it thin, but for wearing His glory...He met me in all the day's commotion.  And He reminded me that the world isn't meant for wearing or carrying.  He already took care of that.  But it is for treading through on a path only He's laid and to spread the word about what He's done, because stepping lightly through a place like this world won't get you very far and even taking the proverbial "high road" can be really risky business.  Not all roads lead Home.

I'm learning how to give myself and this spinning world with all our "less than" back to the Maker, who is and will always be "more than".  It's not an easy task. I'm incredibly earth-bound, tending to take in too much of the air here, polluted with the temporary, and often forgetting to breathe out the Eternal for those who haven't heard.  But He's set some plans in motion to one day clear the air and restore all of the mess to Himself...my mess too.  I'm grateful for that.

Father God,  set the pace for camp and the coming weeks.  Wrap the days full of You and may we feel the weight of this fullness rather than the weight of the world.

boxed dinners and fancy mugs.

I moved into my first big-girl apartment last week.  I'm living with some sweet friends of mine, both old and new.
It feels good.  It feels grown-up. and a little strange. and a little lonely.
A couple of nights ago I sat at the kitchen table indian-style thinking about how the mac and cheese on the stove must be my 300th box and how I'll quite possibly use the well worn phrase "poor college student" as an excuse to have another tomorrow.  I have a theory that mac and cheese from a box makes growing up a little easier to do.  So does drinking coffee from fancy mugs.

Lately here in this 3rd floor apartment (did I mention it has a built-in? I enjoy those), It's felt a bit like a monastic experience. The girls and I all have different schedules and so I find myself alone a little more often than I'm comfortable with. This is good too. Why you ask? uhm, I don't know...yet.  But I know that in my recent & sometimes broody loner-ness I'm learning how to sit with God.  No words or requests or asking Him why He won't come to my senses.  Just sitting. Sometimes Indian-style.
And more often than not I could do without the quiet, and so I reach for Pandora or Pinterest or both to silence the silence and think "maybe I'll do that tomorrow..."
He's patient with me.

So, I'm here, leading these "grown-up" days in a tiny apartment and I don't know if I'm all that graceful or good at it.  But I'm happy to have time to grow and to have nail polish as my solitary luxury and I'm more than willing to bet that I'll always have a little growing up to do...kids these days.

7:22pm

"In confidence of Thy goodness and great mercy, O Lord, I draw near unto Thee, as a sick person to the Healer, as one hungry and thirsty to the Fountain of Life, a creature to the Creator, a desolate soul to my own tender Comforter. Behold, in Thee is all whatsoever I can or ought to desire. Rejoice therefore this day the soul of Thy servant; for unto Thee, O Lord, have I lifted up my soul. Amen."

 :Thomas à Kempis: